Just Another Burnt Out Star
by the Divine Nataku
Summary: Sequel to 'That's Why They Call it the Blues' Spike has put his history with the Syndicate to rest, but there are some histories that refuse to die...
1. Prologue Words That We Couldn't Say

11/20/04

Disclaimer – Cowboy Bebop is a product of Sunrise… I'm just a dorky fan with a lot of free time on her hands.

Author's Notes – Ahhh, I'm terrible! I know it, I know it! I've had all this time to work on my fics and yet I just keep coming up with all these new ideas. I'm cursed, I'm cursed!

Wufei – Actually, it sounds more like you're just lazy.

Oh shut it! ::glares at him:: You're Miss Chang Po's muse… why're you always bothering me?

Wufei - ::shrugs:: Perhaps because you had the gall to call yourself Nataku, and yet you refuse to write any fics about the glory that is me.

::crickets chirp::

Um… anyways… I finally decided to post the first chapter to the sequel to 'That's Why They Call it the Blues'… I know you guys have been waiting awhile and I decided it was high time I finally obliged you.

Miss Chang Po – My, aren't we gracious today… ::grins::

I know… aren't I? Still, keep in mind that the updates might be slow… I have to admit not only am I a bit insecure as to how this fic is going to turn out (I'm having some troubles with 'Look Me in the Eye'… I might have to put in on an indefinite hiatus… sorry!) but I'm also working on an AU Inu Yasha fanfic… along with some other ideas waiting in the wings… I'm swamped!

Miss Chang Po – In other words, you're asking everyone to be patient…

::Nataku-chan opens her mouth to speak but Wufei cuts her off:: Patience is for the weak!

…sigh… Wu-chan…

Cowboy Bebop 

"_Just Another Burnt-out Star_"

**Prologue**

The pair's footsteps echoed off of the tiles and walls as they ran through the empty corridor, drowned out by the sound of a frustration-tinged voice.

"Always, always, always! It never friggin' fails!!"

There was a moment's pause, leaving only the sound of footfalls and the racing of heavy heartbeats. The silence was soon broken, however, by the sound of bullets as they hailed down around the pair's feet, sending them speeding faster down the hall.

The place was suddenly crawling with thugs intent on apprehending them for more than just 'questioning' – it was imperative to keep one eye behind them and the other straight ahead.

As if the evening hadn't been lovely enough as it was.

As the pair continued onwards, the female of the two, a brunette with sharp, attractive features, fixed her partner with an angry glance. "I don't know what it is with you… you ALWAYS manage to get us into some shit!" She muttered a few curses under her breath. "Why must every event be a life-threatening challenge with you?!"

Her partner, a lanky fellow with a slightly unusual hairstyle, merely let out a laugh at her comment as he kept his sights on the path ahead of him. Judging by his expression, it didn't seem he was the slightest bit concerned about their current situation.

Not that it could be helped really. He hadn't signed on for the job without expecting some… risks. Of course, to be completely honest, he loved the feel of adrenaline coursing through his body each time he went out. There wasn't a drug in the whole System that could compare to the high he was currently experiencing. How could he explain to her that life just wasn't any fun without a little danger mixed in?

"Y'know," he drawled. "Nobody forced you to come along, my dear." He paused before continuing in a more husky tone, giving her a look. "Although I have to admit it wouldn't have been much fun without you."

The two came to the end of the corridor, shoving their way through the wide double doors that had blocked their path. Once on the other side, they were met with a large, dark storage room filled with boxes and crates of all assortments. There was barely any time to register any of this however, before they were assaulted with another onslaught of bullets.

"Shit!" Quick to act, the woman dove behind a large crate, pulling her lanky partner along for the ride. Unfortunately, with his balance thrown off, he landed on top of her in quite the compromising position.

"Propelled, as I am, to take you up on the offer," he grinned. "This isn't the type of fun I had in mind…"

She shoved him off of her with a grunt, checking her weapon before unloading a clip into their attackers. "More fun he says…" She quickly reloaded, firing shot after shot in succession. "More fun my ass!"

He merely chuckled, following her example by emptying a load into the dark expanse of the room. "You knew the risk involved," he remarked lightly. "No one said you had to tag along."

A bullet ricocheted off the edge of their crate, causing her to duck down to avoid the shower of splinters that followed. Turning to face him, she fixed him with another harsh glare. "And have you traipsing around here by yourself? Not frickin' likely…"

"So says Miss Trigger Happy herself." He merely rolled his eyes as she responded with another glare and a rude hand gesture. It was all she could do to him really – not that she would if she could – but damn it if she didn't look all the more sexy when she was pissed.

Displeased with his lack of response – usually such a act would have earned a witty remark or two about her lack of manners (he always teased her about being unladylike) – she opened her mouth to respond as a stray bullet ripped through their crate/makeshift hiding space. A startled cry of indignation passed her lips as she rose to fire a retaliating shot stopped only by another bullet zipping by, catching her right in the gut. She let out a soft explanation of surprise, dropping back to her knees and slumping over completely.

It took a few moments for all of this to actually register in his mind. Seeing the red substance oozing from her injury at an alarming rate had caused the grin to suddenly disappear from her partner's face. The color drained from his face at the sight; he could handle the sight of blood, sure, but hers…

This was another matter entirely.

"Oh God… baby," Ignoring the hail of bullets over his head, he collected her up in his arms, barely mindful of her injury.

Her voice came out small and strained as she frowned weakly up at him. "Don't… call me… baby…"

He couldn't respond; his focus was only on her face, watching in desperation as her eyes slowly drifted shut.

"Then what happened?"

Seated at a modest, but sturdy, sitting table a woman turned towards the voice that had brought her out of her reverie. Confronted by her dark hotel room, she found herself once again distracted by the soft pit-pat coming from outside.

Not that it really mattered; it always rained this time of years on Mars. Of course, it was a bit earlier than the Terra-formation System had scheduled, but she wasn't really one to complain. The rain offered a sort of melancholic atmosphere that one just couldn't find through the sunny, balmy days on Venus where she had spent quite a few years of her life. Granted, it wasn't where you lived that determined anything; real comfort came from the company you kept.

Needless to say her days on Mars were certainly being made interesting.

"Ma…"

She found herself blinking once again, now looking down at a little boy who had seated himself in front of her. Dressed in jeans and a canary-yellow, button down shirt that was much too big for him, his face regarded her with a quirk of an eyebrow. It was expressions like this that made him resemble his father more than anything.

It was hard not to smirk at that thought. As if the brown eyes and the unusually unruly hair hadn't been indication enough…

It didn't take long for the boy to realize she wasn't about to answer him – he wasn't sure if she had drifted off again or if she was just teasing – he fixed her with an impatient pout. "Mamaaa…"

He earned an affectionate ruffling of his hair. "Yes, baby?"

His pout turned into a frown; she knew he didn't like the nickname, but then, neither had she when his father used it.

"You didn't finish the story," he moaned. "What happened to the two gangsters?"

She cringed. Where had he gotten the idea they had been gangsters? Part of her wondered whether a boy his age should be exposed to such ideas. Gangsters… She paused. Had they really been gangsters? It was so long ago that she really wasn't quite sure what term to use anymore.

'… _Those times had certainly been something, hadn't they? They were easier, and not to mention… much safer._'

She glanced back at her son, crossing her arms in a chiding fashion. "Never mind what happened," she replied. "It's late and you need to get into bed." The young boy merely nodded before scrambling off in search of his pjs.

It was times like this that reminded her that theirs was a life far from ordinary - something she found to be upsetting. Unlike other children, her son was never one to argue with her about baths or bedtimes. Being that they spent so much time on the move traveling from city to city, something a simple as sleeping in an actual bed or bathing in a tub and not washing up in a public restroom was something hard to come by. When such opportunities presented themselves, you'd be a fool not to take advantage.

'_How long will life go on like this…?_' The woman found her mind once again wandering to the past, where life had been so much simpler. Life as a gangster, as her son had so 'graciously' put it. But then again, he didn't know it was she in the stories – she was sure never to mention…

In those days, her life had possessed some stability. She'd had a job – perhaps not a respectable one, but it paid damn well – not only that, with it came family, friends, security; back in those days, there had always been someone there watching her back, looking out for her. But now…

She shook her head firmly, forcing herself not to dwell on it. "This is the decision _I_ made for myself… my boy…" Her mind drifted to him for a brief moment, no doubt currently scrubbing behind his ears. "It was my choice… nobody forced me into this…"

A man with her son's same brown eyes, coupled with a rakish grin, came to mind only to be forced back into the dark recesses of her mind. As much as the action pained her, it wouldn't do to think about him right now either – not with her son in the next room.

'_That's right, he's my son,_' she thought, though her pride was tainted slightly by sadness. '_I damn near raised him myself… though I probably haven't been doing the best job…_'

Gangsters, indeed.

The One-Woman Pity-party that had ensued was broken by the sound of music. A soft, tinny tune – fluttered through the room, drowning out the sound of the rain with its wistfulness. The woman found herself momentarily frozen; she knew this song very well.

It had been _their_ song, after all…

"Angel…" Her gaze found her son standing at the door in his pajamas, a small, compact sized music box clutched in his tiny hands. His expression turned guilty at the sight of the distraught look on her face.

"I found it… in your suitcase," he replied softly.

A part of her noted she hadn't even been aware that she packed it. She'd been so frantic that day that seemed so long ago – grabbing only items she felt were absolutely necessary.

Seven years had gone by… and yet she hadn't been able to bring herself to part with it.

Taking a deep breath, another part of her – the maternal part, she supposed – wondered what else he had discovered packed in during her haste. Surely he had come across her .38?

God… the things he had been exposed to! What kind of mother was she?

"Why were you in my suitcase?"

Yes, he'd seen her gun(s); the sudden look on his face said it all. How surprised his father would have been to learn she could read her son as easily as she had him. Fortunately, he didn't seem all that fazed by what he had seen; selfish as it was, she found herself taking comfort in that.

"I couldn't find my toothpaste," he said with a pout. "The bubblegum kind."

He'd probably left it at the motel in Bethesda; she had been a bit of a hurry to leave. "I'll buy you some more before we leave tomorrow," she told him, although half of her focus was still on the music box. After all of this time, she could still hear the words to song playing back in her head.

_Someday, baby_

_We'll make it right_

_Until that day_

_Long endless night_

'_Damn straight,_' Frowning, she closed the box shut with a snap.

"I was listening to that." Her son pointed out.

Yes, he was in every way his father's son – a wise ass. Then again, maybe she was partly to blame for that as well…

"Listen to something else, baby," she said patiently, taking the box from his grasp. "This isn't a toy to be played with."

He merely shrugged. "Can you sing me something?" he asked, suddenly looking everything like the 4-year old he actually was. With all of his quirks she often found herself forgetting. "A lullaby? Other kids get sung lullabies."

She froze, realizing with something akin to horror that she didn't know any. Granted, her childhood had also been far from the norm. Still, that didn't make it fair… none of it was fair…

Sensing her distress, her son placed a chubby hand over hers, lifting the music box open once again. The song lilted through the room, slowly easing the tension out of her shoulders. On the other hand, perhaps that was just the weight of the small hand over hers.

"Sing, mama," his voice was soft, eager, but comforting. "Sing anything you want,"

Wiping away the tears that had welled up in her eyes, she nodded shakily. After humming a few bars, the words came forth. Her son crawled up into her lap and she pulled him into a tight, grateful embrace. Rocking him back and forth, she continued singing into the night – even long after he had fallen asleep.

End Prologue

Author's Notes -

Hello again, all! I hoped you guys liked the prologue, I posted it to serve as a teaser of sorts. Like I said before, I'm a bit self-conscious about this piece, seeing as it's the follow-up to a fic that got so much attention. I'd really appreciate any feedback or comments you guys could offer to help improve the story. Not to be threatening or anything, but they really would help me update faster. No pressure now...

Remember the 3 R's! )


	2. 1 Hemorhage in My Hands

Chapter 1

_Memories are just where you laid them  
Drag the waters 'till the depths give up their dead  
What did you expect to find?  
Was there something you left behind?  
Don't you remember anything I said_

- Fuel, "Hemorhage (in my Hands)

Vaguely, she remembered the gunfight. Their target had been close – so tantalizingly close she could almost feel it, taste it. Then there had been the chase, the hail of bullets, and then the pain – damn it if getting shot didn't hurt like a bitch – and then, just before the darkness there had been the worried face of her partner.

Her eyes suddenly snapped open as she became aware of his voice. Strange how she always seemed to home in on it – judging by the sound of it he was nearby… humming?

She smirked at the déjà vu. Granted, she had to give credit where it was due – he wasn't that bad, but she hoped he wouldn't quit his day job.

'_Job… ha…_' Keeping her thoughts to herself, she continued to listen, startled when she realized she knew the song.

"…_We couldn't say them, so now we just pray them_," The humming suddenly stopped. Her voice was dry from not being used, but surely she didn't sound that bad. She continued on, "_Words that we couldn't saay…"_

A faint chuckle could be heard from overhead. "You still sing off-key."

Faye merely scowled, raising her middle finger in the air. The action tugged painfully at her stitches, but in her own twisted mind, it was worth it.

"I certainly don't see your ugly mug on any album covers, Lunkhead," Her voice broke on the insult and she scowled again; just how long had she been out?

"She up yet?" Faye only blinked as Jet came into her line of vision. Meeting her eyes, the lines of tension that had been present in his face slowly eased away and the relief in his blue eyes was quickly hidden by feigned remorse. "Oh, so she is… damn shame. We coulda finally turned her in for that bounty."

The price on her head had reached its _Statute of Limitations_ a year ago – she'd even gone out to celebrate that fact – and they knew it. Still, she growled nonetheless, earning a loud guffaw from somewhere off to her side.

"I guess Fate is not without a twisted sense of humor…"

"Or irony…"

She growled again, gritting her teeth against the fresh wave of pain caused by the action of her trying to sit up. Without warning, a pair of hands reached out, easing her up gently to rest against something warm – a man's chest, no doubt. Glancing upwards, mismatched eyes came into her line of vision filled with thinly veiled concern.

Faye noted the bandage adorning his brow as well as the wrappings bound over his 'bare' shoulder – granted, she was way beyond feeling modest around him, and his lack of upper-body clothing. She was Faye Valentine, after all.

She smirked. "Seems you earned your own set of scrapes, Cowboy," she teased.

Spike, as he was so wont to do when lacking a witty comeback, merely shrugged.

Jet let out a snort. "Why did I think things would be any different this time 'round?" he groaned, busying himself with collecting all the First-Aid equipment littering the small cabin. "First sign of a little cash and you guys eat it all up with the damned medical-bills…"

"Maybe," Faye admitted, batting her eyes prettily. "But you love us anyway?" Jet merely gave her a look. Spike laughed.

It was ironic, they both had to admit. After all, only a couple of months had passed since their brush-in with Thanatos Ragnarok and the Red-Mafia. With nearly 10 million woolongs under their belts, and dividing it amongst themselves, it had seemed as though the Bebop crew was back in business.

Of course, it should have been expected that before long they'd be back in the red again.

Forever broke… so the song went.

Not that anyone really cared – sure Jet complained, but it was only to maintain a sense of normalcy. Having everyone back aboard the ship, and after such a mission, getting adjusted had been a bit awkward. However, everyone slipped back into his or her old roles quickly, glad to be a part of something – hell, anything – again. Twisted and odd though it was, it would be quite some time before any one of them would be willing to split ties again.

Edward took that as her cue to tumble into the room, shock-red hair sticking out in all directions making her look as wily as ever. "Morning, morning, blue skies a-booorning!"

"Ed," Spike remarked dryly. "It's 10 o'clock…" Ed merely blinked. He gave her a deadpan expression. "At _night_."

The young hacker only grinned, flailing her arms back and forth like a windmill. "Edward just woke up… so to Edward it's morning!" she chirped. "Edward had a really, really strange dream!"

"Do tell," replied Faye. Spike gave her a look, but she just shrugged and ignored him. After all, since her return to the ship, Faye had been making a more conscious effort to humor the kid and all of her strange antics. After all, she too had been dragged into their previous, life-threatening experience. It was just her attempt at the 'more of the family-unifying-bond-bit' routine, she would argue.

Sighing heavily, Spike merely draped his arm across her shoulders – the other busy propping up his upper body – making himself more comfortable. Now that she had expressed an interest, God only knows what they were in store for.

Edward wasn't called 'Radical' for nothing.

Now that she had a 'semi'-captive audience, Edward squealed with glee before taking on the pose of what she felt was that of a storyteller. "Okay-dokay! Edward fell asleep at her Tomato and had a funky-dunky dream," She waved her arms and wiggled her fingers for effect, ignoring Jet and Spike both mouthing the words 'funky-dunky'. "Edward was sitting at her Tomato-"

"In your dream?" Spike cut in. Faye elbowed him, earning a small grunt of discomfort.

"…And then all this water came outta nowhere like – SWOOSH! SPLASH! Then there was this huuuuuuge fish! It had eyes that were this big and his mouth was like this…"

Faye cringed, thinking back on how she had recounted her 'vision' during her drug-trip from that mushroom incident to the others a few years back. She hoped no one remembered…

Snicker! Well, so much for hoping. She elbowed Spike a bit harder this time.

"Hey! That hurt, damn it!"

Faye smiled coyly, batting her eyelashes up at him. "Poor thing… want me to kiss it and make it all better?"

Spike paused, looking thoughtful. However, taking her injuries into account he turned away, looking flustered for even entertaining the idea. "Maybe later."

Faye thought it was cute. Meanwhile, Edward was still going on about her fish.

"You know," Jet cut in. "There's an old superstition about fish and dreams…"

This earned a snort from Spike. "What're you, an old granny bag lady or something?" His comment was rewarded with a roll of medical tape landing on his head.

"Shit, Jet! That hurt, you know?"

"Then stop getting shot up!"

Rolling her eyes, Faye let out a scoff. "Men are such babies…" She turned her attention back to Edward, who was busy typing away madly at her computer. "That another bounty, Ed? Y'know, I don't know if I'm up for one right now…"

The two men in the room exchange looks. "That's a first."

"Kiss my ass." Spike quirked an eyebrow at her, "It wasn't literal! Pervert."

"Edward isn't looking up a bounty," the young hacker explained, never taking her eyes away from her screen and stopping an argument from occurring at the same time. "Edward is writing a story."

The room fell silent.

"A story?"

"You?"

"Really?"

"What's it about?"

Edward blocked her screen from the suddenly prying eyes. "No one can see!" she exclaimed. "Not 'til Edward finishes!"

"Then finish already," Spike replied, catching Faye's elbow before it could do anymore damage. He only smirked as she let out a huff; without her primary weapon, she was powerless. Unless, of course, she did that thing where she put her fingers… um, moving on… "How far along are you?"

"Edward still needs a name for the main character-lady."

"Reeally?" Faye's voice intoned. "Name her Faye!" Already her mind was imagining up copyright royalties for some galaxy-wide best seller; never mind the fact this was Ed she was dealing with…

"No, no, no," Edward giggled, wild hair shaking back and forth as she clapped her feet together amusedly. "Edward can't call her 'Faye'! That's Faye-Faye's name!"

Deadpan. "Oh… how could I have forgotten?"

"Name her Bethany." Everyone turned towards Spike. He, in turn, gave them all a 'what?' look.

"Is that even a name?"

"O'course it's a name," Spike responded, looking a bit offended. He turned back to Edward. "What's your character like, Ed?"

She grinned. "Well, she's loyal, kind, and she likes papayas!"

Easing himself out from under the invalid Faye, Spike stood up. Stretching his limbs and cracking a few joints, he replied offhandedly, "Then that name's no good for you."

"Aww…" Edward pouted, though truthfully she wasn't really all that disappointed; she couldn't think of any words that rhymed with Bethany, after all… "Why not?"

The smirking, comedic expression was gone from the lanky bounty hunter's face, replaced by a drawn, closed in frown. His words were soft and clipped, "Because she was none of those things."

Faye watched all of this closely, unable to shake the sudden feeling of uncertainty. What was it he was thinking about? Judging by his expression, it was almost as if he was experiencing a bad memory of some sort. That brought up another question; who was this Bethany person? Surely she wasn't another 'Julia' from his past?

Her question must have showed on her face, for Spike suddenly turned to her with an unreadable look on his face. "She was my mother." That said, he strolled casually out of the room as if nothing was amiss.

The adults of the room, however, were not so easily fooled. Faye and Jet exchanged brief looks of confusion before the ex-cop, too, left the room in another direction. Off to consider the matter with his bonsai plants, no doubt…

The recent event having taken its toll, sleep began tug at her body despite her mind's reluctance to submit. However, as her senses soon won over as she began to drift under, Faye's brain remained active running 90 miles a minute.

'_Spike's… mother…?_'

This conversation was not over, she told herself, not by a long shot. Before long, she was fast asleep.

**000**

Throughout her recovery, which fortunately spanned only a week and a half, Faye had not seen much of Spike. This was not uncommon however, seeing as even after a near-death experience and a couple of months, the two still had yet to truly define their 'relationship', as it were. They sometimes considered themselves 'lovers', but there were still times when an argument or petty fight would break out and the two would be on non-speaking terms for the greater part of a month.

To make matters worse, there was still this 'Bethany' person to attend to. Was she really Spike's mother as he claimed? It wasn't as if he had any reason to lie, but Faye felt she had to know for sure. After all, aside from his dealings with the Red Dragons, how much did she really know about the man?

**000**

-Ka-chink!- Spike blinked at the lighter being held out in front of the cigarette dangling from his lips. It so happened be _his_ lighter.

At his questioning stare, Faye merely shrugged, lighting his cigarette. "You dropped it."

Spike scoffed. "Like hell," He took a few puffs of his cigarette, sighing as the nicotine took the desired effect. "I thought you quit."

She smirked, twirling the small metal canister expertly through her fingers. "Some habits are hard to break."

"I bet." He paused, giving her a once over. "You doin' okay?"

She fought the urge to smile at his poorly veiled show of concern. Why he even bothered trying to hide it when he knew he was being so obvious she'd never know. Once he'd let her in behind his walls, it was hard not to be able to see how he felt. However, every once in a while there were times when she met a little opposition. He'd put up an inner wall to keep her from venturing any further – just as he had managed with this Bethany-person.

Faye inwardly groaned. '_Now I sound like Ed…_' She glanced at him. "How 'bout you?"

"Me?" He exhaled a puff of smoke, watching the tendrils curl and dissipate into the air. "100 clean bill of health."

"Mm," She sat down next to him, watching the stars zip by through the clear-paned glass on the observation deck – another indication something was bothering her lanky cowboy. He only ever came here to exercise or to brood, and seeing since there were no katas currently being performed…

Subtlety was usually lost on him, so Faye took a breath and decided to just jump right in. "Hey, Spike."

He was still puffing away on that damned cancer stick of his. "Hn?"

"What was your mother like?"

He paused, and Faye could just see his inner walls going up in defense against her, all the while trying to remain nonchalant. "Why?"

"Can't I ask a question?"

Keeping his expression neutral, Spike took another drag on his cig, its blue gray smoke coming out in agitated puffs. "Ask something else then."

'_Prick,_' She bristled slightly. "It's just a harmless question," she replied. "What, you can't tell me?"

Spike sighed. "There's nothing to tell," he deadpanned, although his eyes held a strange glint to them. "She was my mother – she carried me to term for nine months and gave birth to me June 26th, 2044. La dee frickin' da."

"At least you remember her."

He tensed; she just _had_ to play the memory card… "Look, Faye, it's not that big of a deal,"

"Maybe not to you," she exclaimed. "But I was just sitting here, and I realized that you know just about as much my past as I do," Spike frowned and looked away. "But I know next to nothing about yours."

The lanky bounty hunter laughed, giving her an incredulous look. "Are you kidding me?" She gave him a murderous look in turn. "We're having another 'lovers' quarrel', aren't we?"

"Spike…"

"Faye…" He looked at her, shaking his head in disbelief when her expression did not budge. "You are serious…"

"No shit I'm serious! Spike, I know _nothing_ about you!"

"Are you crazy? Are the last 3 years ringing any bells, or have you forgotten that, too?"

That was a low blow and they both knew it; Faye's eyes narrowed as she fought to let the remark slide. "I'm not talking about the Syndicate…" She trailed off, her expression darkening at the mere thought of it.

He turned to face her, his expression surprisingly one of anger. "What, are you saying that part of my life doesn't count?" He took another drag of his cigarette, blowing it in her face. "Sorry to break it to you, but up until 3 years ago, the Syndicate _was_ my life – you're gonna have to get used to that!" He paused. "Otherwise you're telling me that _I_ don't count."

Faye was at a loss of words. It wasn't often that Spike got angry – usually that was her department – but behind his anger she could tell that he was actually very upset. Whether it was at her words or however Bethany played into all of this. Regardless, she decided it was time to submit quietly, if not gracefully.

"Fine, Spike," she bit out. "_Fine_." She rose from her seat stiffly, shooting him one last look. "Despite all the things you used to say about me…" She narrowed her eyes when he looked away. "I won't settlefor being with a complete stranger."

He remained silent for a moment, seemingly content with smoking his cigarette and staring out into space. "That's just too bad," he replied softly. He shot her a cruel, mocking look. "Cuz I'm just about as strange as they come."

She stared at him disbelievingly for a moment. He was being such a jackass, why? Letting out a short huff, she turned and marched out of the room without another word.

By doing so, however, she didn't see the frustrated look on Spike's face, or hear him curse softly under his breath.

End Chapter 1

Author's Notes - Wow, is Faye and Spike's relationship on the rocks already? (C'mon... you knew I'd find a way to throw some more tension between them, didn'cha?)

Anyways, any comments you guys might have are greatly welcomed! Encouragement is a great motivator.. ::grins cheekily::

Remember the 3 R's, peeps!


	3. 2 Cool Kat

Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop does not belong to me. But... my birthday is in a few months... hear that, Sunrise?

Chapter 2

Why can't you, please understand 

_What kind of man I've got to be_

_You're saying, I'm such a fool hiding my thoughts_

_Away from you girl I know it's driving you wild_

_I'm sorry I'm a Cool Kat baby_

From the album _No Disc_, "You Make Me Cool"

The night was a cold one. The figures gathered in front of the old, abandoned building stayed clustered together under the lamplight, their eyes sharpened and focused on everything around them. Despite their closeness, each person was wary and suspicious of the other, and regardless of their numbness, there were fingers just itching to draw out their weapons at the slightest sign of trouble.

That was just how things worked in the underworld… these days especially.

Still, no one dared make a move. Drawing attention to oneself and initiating a confrontation would not be the smartest move to make at the moment, certainly not now with all that was at stake. For now, everyone merely kept their mouths shut and their eyes open – at least until their absent host decided to make his appearance.

They didn't have to wait long, however. Suddenly, like a silent wraith appearing out of the shadows, he was there. A few of the men took a step back in alarm, taking in the sight. Before them stood a man swathed in a large black trench coat that seemed to swallow his whole frame. Despite this, he was still an imposing figure, his large frame and harsh features were hardened more so by dim light of the Cuban cigar hanging from his cruel lips.

Despite their surprise at his sudden appearance, must of those in attendance did well to maintain their cool. Most of them seasoned, harsh ex-Syndicate thugs as they were, knew better than to reveal any insecurities – especially around a guy like this. He was, after all, not someone you wanted to let your guard down around.

The guy was, well, a frickin' legend.

"Everybody made it here… good." His voice was cold and harsh, presumably from all his years of smoking. If not for the advances in technology, he most likely would have contracted some form of cancer. "Those of you who got your doubts, I guarantee your participation in this _endeavor_ is definitely worth the while."

Some of the men grunted their acquiescence while others shifted uneasily. There were those who knew what this guy was about and those who didn't.

One man, a punk in his early 20s emerged from the group with a cocky smirk on his face. "The Syndicate's already capoot… what's the point of callin' us out here on a creepy night like this?

There was no response. He gave the older man before him a once over. Despite his overbearing appearance, under normal circumstances he would have been viewed as just a common thug. What was it that made him different from all the others?

"Well? Instead of having us all freeze our asses off out here," he replied. "How's about you tell us the purpose of this little get-together?"

There were a few murmurs of agreement from the younger crowd.

"Punks these days…" The man in the black trench coat held out his cigar, shaking away the loose embers from the end. "There're only few things that'll actually motivate these little shits nowadays… money, sex, and food…?" He paused, looking thoughtful. "Then again, I guess that hasn't changed in all these years." He glanced back at the group. "You do what _I_ tell ya and I guarantee you'll get co-paid."

A few of the youngsters grunted their approval. The man smirked; promise'em a few bucks and they're like lambs to a slaughter…

The first youngster to speak up, however, was still not satisfied. "You still didn't answer my question, old man." He replied. "What the hell've you got planned?"

Pale green eyes gleamed back at him through the darkness. "You don't need to worry yourself about that, kid." He replied. "Just follow my orders and do as you're told."

"Yeah right," he sneered, ignoring the looks from the oldsters behind him. What did they know anyway? After all, they'd followed after the last boss like he was the frickin' Messiah and look where it had gotten them? A couple of months in the pen and a spot at the back of the unemployment line; well not this time – he wasn't about to follow some old geezer half-cocked without some clue as to what he was getting himself into ahead of time. Now use getting fried for something you could have avoided.

"You said I'm old," came the man's voice, strangely quiet now. "Didn't anybody teach you to respect your elders, boy?"

He only laughed. "You kidding me?" Spitting at the ground, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a long switchblade. "I ain't no boy, old man –"

"No…?" He shook a few more ashes from his cigar. "I can still smell the milk on your breath, ya little pisser."

The young man snorted. "Oh yeah? You're probably so old your senior citizen discount's probably expired!" He swiped the blade through the air, grinning as the lamplight flicked off of it dangerously. "I can take you on any day, ya old geezer. In fact, maybe _I_ should be the one running this show."

The others merely looked on, watching to see what would happen. By the looks on some of their faces, it seemed as though some of them already knew.

The man in the trench coat merely laughed, his teeth flashing white. "Cute." Tossing the cigar to the ground, he, too, then reached into his trench coat.

No one was really able to determine what happened after that, but it seemed that with in quick flash, the young punk let out a blood-curdling scream and dropped to the ground with a thud. Crossing the distance between them in a few short steps, the man in the trench coat stopped before his prone body, giving it a good kick to ensure that he was in fact dead before turning back to the others.

"No wonder the Syndicate fell under," he murmured, tossing his cigar stub and lighting another. "These young punks come in thinkin' they know everything – don't know their place in the system."

A few of the older men grunted in agreement while some of the younger ones remained silent and uneasy, fearing they would share their peer's fate if they stepped out of line.

"Well," he turned from the group, gesturing to the empty building in front of them. Entering the interior, he 'tsk'ed thoughtfully; Thanatos certainly had let the place fall apart when he moved operations to Europa. Then again, he might not have known about this particular building at all – it had been 'decommissioned', so to speak, long before the coup on the Van. In the end, it was just as well; Thanatos was out of the picture, which left him here to pick up the pieces.

The Syndicate would be restored and brought back to its original glory.

He found himself smirking at the thought; it was ironic that after nearly 30 years, the Syndicate would fall into his control. However, that was not the important matter – finally, after all his years of planning, Joe McClane would get his revenge.

His green eyes gleamed manically. They said that youth was wasted on the young, but to him, life had never seemed sweeter.

In the meantime, it was time to get to work.

Bang! Bang! Bang!- -Ka-ching! Ka-ching!-

The TV screen lit up with the flashing lights and sounds synonymous with the opening sequence of the show _Big Shots _for bounty hunters. As the show's rodeo-like theme song played in the background, the hosts Punch and Judy popped looking as ostentatious as ever before.

"'Owdy, pardners!" Punch crowed in his fake Midwestern American accent. He waggled his eyebrows and elbows seemingly in-synch as he straightened the lapels of his vest. "Ahm Punch!"

His blond co-host stood beside him, bouncing happily. "Howdy there, Cowpokes!" she chirped. "I'mmmm Judy!"

"And this here's Big Shots! The show for all you Bounty Hunters out there!"

"Hi, y'all!" The screen changed to Judy standing to the left of a message board posted with numerous mug shots. She regarded them all in awe. "Why gollee… it sure looks like you Cowboys have been busy!" she exclaimed. "Look at all the bounties you've turned in!"

A cardboard sign dropped down reading, '_Sugoi/Wow!_'

The blond turned to another board on her right filled with more mug shots. "But keep in mind, there's plenty more were that came from!"

"Yessiree, Judy," Punch agreed. "Keep up the bueno work, Amigos!"

Jet paused, comparing his computer with the mug shots on the screen. "Hey, Spike," he called out.

"Yo," came the response behind this month's edition of the _Guns 'R' Us _catalog.

"Take a look at this." Mismatched brown eyes wandered towards the plasma screen a few feet away. "You recognize any of these guys?"

There was a long pause. "Should I?"

There was something off about his tone, but Jet ignored it. "'Cording to my comp, a lot of these guys were tied in with the Syndicate."

Spike lowered his magazine, but his face showed no signs of a reaction. "So?"

The ex-cop frowned. "Whaddya mean '_so_'?" he exclaimed. "This is the second week Syndicate thugs have been showing up on the YMCA's roster. That doesn't seem a bit weird to you?"

Spike merely shrugged, his gaze going to that of a pinup girl holding an AK-47.

Sighing, Jet ran a hand over his bald head. The lanky bounty hunter's lackadaisical attitude could only be accredited to one thing… He gave the younger man a pointed look. "All right…" he groaned. "What'd you do _this_ time?"

Reclining on his yellow couch, Spike blinked before turning over on his side away from Jet. "Damn it, Jet," he groaned. "Please don't start with that mother hen shit again…"

Jet merely grunted. Spike and Faye, Faye and Spike… Ever since the two of them had 'hooked up', it was easy to tell when they had gotten into an argument and who was at fault… not that you'd have to be deaf not to… In a way, it was kind of predictable.

Maybe it had to do with planetary shifts or something; who knew?

Getting back on track, nine times out of ten it was usually Spike's fault – no questions asked. Jet wasn't sure if it was just his stubbornness or just his inability to take a hint – the man had yet to learn no matter what the woman says it is _never_ okay to say what's on your mind.

However, watching him go through the school of Hard Knocks with the Untouchable Shrew herself could be amusing from time to time. She certainly did put him through his paces – Poker Alice usually had him wrapped so tightly around her little finger that no matter who was in the wrong, Spike was usually the first to apologize.

It was the making up part Jet had grievances with however; he was still pissed about that one incident during the whole Thanatos thing… on the cabin floor? Come on now, really…

All in all, the whole lot of them was his family – in a twisted, _Twilight Zone_, alternate reality sort of way. He'd allowed them all to come aboard his ship and he felt it was his responsibility to look after them (they seemingly lacked either the ability, or the common sense, or both, to do so on their own). If there was some sort of problem amongst them, it was almost Jet's obligation to see that it was fixed.

If Spike thought he was being a mother hen, well… he could just shove it.

Said bounty hunter was still busy grumbling under his breath about something. Jet strained to hear, catching snippets like, "Damned temperamental woman," and "What is it, PMS or something?"

The ex-cop glanced around warily, glad that Faye was nowhere in sight. Another rule of thumb – a lesson he had learned quickly – you never make light of women and their hormones. _Ever_. He looked back over at Spike, who was sitting up now looking sulky as ever. He smirked; if anyone were really in a testy mood, it was he. The man had been on edge ever since he brought up the subject of his mother.

Calling Dr. Freud?

"You know how she gets," he finally offered, not entirely sure if they were on the same page or not.

"What's the big frickin' deal anyway?" Spike exclaimed. "The past shouldn't matter."

Ah, so he had been right after all. Score one for the Black Dog.

Jet gave him a level gaze. "That," he replied calmly. "Is a load of bullshit." Spike gawked at him before muttering something unintelligible under his breath. "Look, if you don't want to talk about it, you should just say so." He paused. "If anybody understands that the past is difficult to talk about, it's Faye."

Blinking, Spike looked over at the unreadable expression on his partner's face. He frowned slightly at the small pang of jealously that hit him as he remembered the closeness that existed between his fellow crewmates after his 'death'. He knew it was strictly platonic, but it still bothered sometimes him to realize that Jet knew a great deal more about Faye than he did. He had, after all, gotten a 3-year head start.

"_Spike, I know nothing about you!_"

"_Despite all the things you used to say about me, I can't settle with being with a complete stranger_."

Her words had hurt, even though he'd never admit it out loud. Why should it matter whether or not she knew his whole life story – none of it mattered, right? She knew he loved her; that was what counted… wasn't it?

"Hey, Spike," Jet's gruff voice roused him out of his thoughts. "Take a look at this."

"What is it?" he grunted as he sat up, not really interested in what Jet was about to show him. If it was a site for a relationship counselor… he paused. On second thought, that wasn't such a bad idea – it certainly would piss her off long enough to have her talking to him again. He glanced at the computer screen, the stats to a bounty glaring back at him.

"We've got a big fish out there for all you Compadres willing to take the challenge," Punch announced, holding plastic guns with little flags reading '_Bang, Bang' _sticking out of the ends.

"Really?" Judy cooed. "Even bigger than that last one a while back?"

"Nah, not as big as that Ragnarok guy – he was leader of the now deposed _Red Mafia_ – but I guarantee it's worth the while." Punch reached behind him, pulling out a small sign. "This one's worth 65 million!"

"65 million? Wow-ee, Punch! That sure is a whole lot of woolongs!" Another sign popped up from below reading '_Ganbare_!'.

By this point, the entire Bebop crew had settled themselves around the room, their focus solely on the TV.

"Who is this guy?" Faye asked, her nail file in hand. Spike noted that she refused to look at him.

Humph, PMS indeed.

Jet merely turned up the volume as Punch went on to describe the bounty. Kids these days…

"This guy's name is Joe McClane—"

"_McClane_?" Faye echoed. "The hell…?" Jet shushed her.

"…He's wanted for robbery, kidnapping, conspiracy to murder, and over 250 individual counts of murder in the 2nd degree—"

"Damn." Edward murmured, though no one bothered to reprimand her – it was far too late for that anyway.

"Hey, Punch, it says here that he was also known for a lot of his Syndicate dealings," Judy replied, reading from a piece of paper in her hand.

Punch nodded a matter-of-factly. "That's right, Judy," he explained. "This guy had his hand in just about everything from smuggling to drug-trafficking – matter of fact, that's what got him into trouble."

"Oh?"

"You got it! Word has it he was an informant for a rival syndicate group. When the Dragons found out what he'd done, rumor is he was subjected to experiments grafting these weird metal devices to his hands." The show-host waved his hands around for effect. "I dunno what they were for, but that's why people then started calling him '_Iron_ _Hands_' McClane."

"How _terrible_!"

"How _lame_," Faye groaned. "How is it people are scared of this guy?" She paused, studying the screen. "If you ask me he looks kinda old."

Jet merely laughed. "Can you blame'em? They gotta keep the ratings up somehow." Faye soon joined him in his laughter.

Spike, however, had gotten very still. '_Why does that name sound familiar…?_'

As the two bumbling hosts gave continued to rant on about the bounty's supposed exploits, Faye gave an unladylike snort. "They're making him out to be more of a Boogeyman than a bounty."

Jet shut off the television, still chuckling slightly. "Well, I don't care if he's the friggin' Easter Bunny," he replied. "He's still worth 65 million woolongs."

Intrigued, Spike looked up at him, the usual glint back in his eye. "We goin' after'im?"

"Hells yeah we are," the ex-cop barked. "Ed, see what you can dig up on this guy."

"Aye-aye, Cap'n Jet-papa!" she exclaimed, hopping to her feet. "Bebop ahoy!"

End Chapter 2


End file.
